


A Thin Line Between

by scheherazade



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-09
Updated: 2008-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:16:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheherazade/pseuds/scheherazade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reality is never simple, and telling the truth is never easy. No matter how hard Renji may wish otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thin Line Between

"Renji."

Renji turns around in his desk chair, aware that this is probably a dream, because he can feel neither the texture of the desk beneath his hand nor the solidity of the chair supporting him. He has always been good at differentiating between dreams and reality.

Sadaharu is standing beside the window. Renji wonders how he got there -- but then remembers that this is a dream. It doesn't have to make sense.

"It's been a while, Sadaharu," Renji says, and it's true. It has been some time since his old friend featured in one of his dreams. Renji credits it to the fact that they rarely see each other anymore, ever since they graduated high school and moved on to university.

"It has," Sadaharu echoes. "I'm sorry I didn't get to come see you one last time. I meant to, but things kept coming up."

Renji imagines a frown on his own face; he can't feel his facial muscles. "What do you mean?"

Sadaharu pushes his glasses upward in that old familiar way. "I died in a car accident last night."

And even though this is a dream, Renji feels his feet go cold. 

The hazy reality of dreamscape dissolves, and he wakes with a gasp caught in his throat. False dawn is encroaching on the shadows in his room, and he can hear a lone bird chirping outside the window.

Just a dream, he murmurs to himself. An odd dream, but a dream nonetheless. Coming back home for vacation, after two years of not seeing his family, has upset his inner balance. It is to be expected.

Hours later, Renji watches the news while having breakfast with his mother in the kitchen. He nearly drops his teacup when the headline appears:

FOUR KILLED IN FATAL CAR ACCIDENT

Renji's mother gasps as the names come up. The first three are unfamiliar, but the last is one that they both recognize all too well.

Inui Sadaharu. Age twenty-one.

Renji sets down the cup; it clinks against the counter. The birds are absurdly loud in the sudden stillness as the reporter calmly narrates the details of the accident. Renji doesn't hear a word that is said. He is only aware of his mother's pitying look as he excuses himself from the table.

...

"Why were you even out so late?" he asks Sadaharu that night. Renji doesn't allow himself to analyze the situation. Getting into bed and falling asleep was difficult enough. More difficult was trying not to think (worry) about whether Sadaharu would appear in his dreams again.

Sadaharu still stands by the window, dressed in a shirt and jeans. He stares back at Renji. "I was on my way back to the dorms after talking to my professor. We discussed my research project for too long."

"And you felt it safer to ride in a taxi with a sketchy-looking driver instead of walking the three and a half blocks?"

"It was late."

"Exactly."

Sadaharu looks down at his feet for a moment. "I was tired. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Renji lets the silence contemplate itself for several long seconds. "I have a question."

"There is a ninety-four percent chance that you will ask--"

"Why are you appearing in my dreams?"

Sadaharu has the decency to look slightly chagrined at being beaten to the punch line. "Well, I'm dead."

"Yes. I know."

"It is said that some spirits linger behind on account of unfinished business." Sadaharu adjusts his glasses. "There is a high probability that my inability to 'pass on the next world'" -- Renji can literally hear the quotation marks -- "has to do with regrets or unfulfilled promises."

"And what, exactly," Renji deadpans, "do you mean by _that_?"

Sadaharu pauses. He clears his throat. "I'm not sure."

"Perhaps you're being held back because you forgot to apologize to me for something. Apologies are often sadly overlooked, as you know."

Sadaharu suddenly looks concerned. "But such a deduction carries the implication that I would have to apologize to every person to whom I owe such a debt before I am allowed to move on. Wouldn't that keep me here for quite a while?"

"Maybe you had something especially important to apologize to me for," Renji suggests, feeling oddly guilty for his late friend's situation. He also wonders just how many people Sadaharu has offended in his lifetime.

"Hmm. The time I borrowed a book on your library card and neglected to return it until months after it was due?"

"You already apologized for that."

"The time I forgot it was your mother's birthday?"

"I don't think she minded."

"The time I beat you in tennis?"

Renji stares at him. "Does being dead warp one's sense of humor?"

Sadaharu smiles. "No. I suppose not." 

Renji doesn't know if he's talking about the sense of humor or the tennis match -- which he still remembers quite vividly. He also remembers the doubles (re-)match, but he prefers not to think about that too much.

"I also have another question," Renji says after a moment. "Isn't it possible that you're not actually here, and this is all a by-product of my imagination?"

"According to certain philosophies, everything is in our minds."

"No, I meant, couldn't this be a result of my being so affected by the news of your death? It's not unheard of that the death of a close friend upsets one's mental stability."

Sadaharu tilts his head to one side. "I never thought you to be one who would be so easily affected."

"Easily?"

"Well, I suppose I'm underestimating my own importance," Sadaharu chuckles. "But still, you are always so calm and composed. Always in control of the situation."

Renji resists the urge to point out that Sadaharu's judgments are not always infallible. "In any case, I guess I would rather not count myself as crazy."

"And I would rather not count myself as a figment of your imagination." Sadaharu smiles again and glances outside. "It's almost morning."

They watch the faint glow of sunrise in silence until it gains strength and a sliver of gold appears on the horizon. Sadaharu pushes away from the window and steps back toward the shadows behind the curtains. "I'll see you tonight, kyouju."

Renji nods. "Until then."

He wakes up to an overcast sky that looks nothing like the dawn in his dreams.

...

They called Sadaharu's parents yesterday after hearing the news, and Renji spent several awkward minutes with Inui-san over the phone. Her voice sounded muffled, but he wasn't sure if that was due to the connection or the fact that she was crying. He said something bland and completely inappropriate, considering the years that their families have known each other, and then let his mother take over.

Today, there is little to do, and his parents act as if they are walking on eggshells around him. Renji quickly grows weary of it, and retreats to the relative sanctity of his bedroom. 

He spends the day on summer reading, even though vacation has barely started, and James is really not a fitting read for any summer day, even rainy ones. The book reminds him of Sadaharu, and Renji puts it away after an hour of staring at the same few lines without absorbing any of the information.

Water droplets trickle down the windowpanes as he tries to stare through the gathering mist, unable to find anything to do, unable to gather the energy to really care.

Renji goes to bed early, ignoring his mother when she knocks on his door and asks if he's all right, if he wants something for dinner. He feigns sleep until she goes away, then stares into the dark until his body relinquishes its hold on wakefulness.

...

"Have you figured it out yet?"

"No, regretfully," Sadaharu answers. "Have you?"

Renji shakes his head. "I would think you'd have a better idea of why you're stuck here."

Sadaharu makes a small sound of agreement. He is leaning against the window again, still dressed in the same outfit. Renji supposes that ghosts don't exactly have a chance to change their clothes. 

But he feels a bit concerned with how...well, how _cheap_ Sadaharu looks in that outfit. Namely that shirt, and those jeans...

Best not to think about it too much.

"If it is not an inappropriate question to ask at this point," Renji says slowly, "Sadaharu, I must know: do you believe in any form of life after death?"

Sadaharu adjusts his glasses. "You know the answer to that question. We went over this when we were in third grade, did we not?"

"Yes, but it is possible that you've changed your mind since then." Renji pauses. "Especially considering recent circumstances."

"Have _you_ changed your mind about life after death?" Sadaharu sounds genuinely curious.

Renji looks at him for a long moment. Sadaharu meets his gaze evenly. "No," he says after the moment has passed. "I still believe what I believe."

"I see." Sadaharu turns his gaze to the window, looking thoughtful. "It might interest you to know that I seem incapable of leaving this room."

Renji blinks at the _non sequitur_. "Oh?"

"I believe that affirms your hypothesis that I do not have to settle anything with anyone else. That's a bit of a relief." Sadaharu's fingers drum against the windowsill. Renji notices only because it's not like Sadaharu to fidget needlessly.

"But you still have to figure out why you're stuck here."

"Yes, but it may take a while, since I confess that I am completely clueless at this point."

"In the meantime, what do you plan on doing?"

Sadaharu doesn't answer immediately. He walks a bit away from the window to seat himself in the only chair in the room, the one beside Renji's desk. Then he says, "I'm going to reflect on everything that happened in the last thirteen years." 

"Good luck with that."

Sadaharu smiles wryly. "Don't rub it in, Renji. We already know that my memory isn't as good as yours."

Renji can't help but smile in reply. "Remember out loud, then. That way I can fill in anything that you forget," he offers.

Sadaharu's smile softens. "Very well." 

He adjusts his glasses and begins with the first day they met at tennis class, back when they were in third grade. Renji listens carefully, nodding or correcting Sadaharu as needed.

They talk and remember together until pale rays of light creep through the window, filling the space between them with a bright haze. 

Sadaharu glances outside, pausing the middle of a sentence. "It's morning."

"So it is." They have only made it through one month's worth of memories. Renji stops himself from mentally calculating how long it will take them to finish remembering.

"We'll continue later." Sadaharu sits back in his chair, a faint smile on his lips. "Until then, Renji."

"Until then," Renji replies, suddenly realizing that he doesn't want to wake up.

...

He attends the funeral service and speaks to no one. The atmosphere is appropriately subdued.

It is hard to believe that Inui Sadaharu -- so brilliant, so exact, so beyond ordinary -- can be gone in such a careless, mundane way.

Renji does not cry. (There is no reason to.)

He almost recognizes a few others -- Sadaharu's old friends from high school, mostly. The rest are strange faces crowding the memory of a boy with thick glasses and perpetually unruly hair.

He feels tired before the morning is half over, though he slept for almost twelve hours the night before.

Renji wonders if sleep will ever be restful for him again.

...

"It was during the summer that we began to play doubles together, wasn't it?" Sadaharu says, and Renji nods in agreement.

It has taken them three nights to finish recounting all that happened during the spring of one year. Even Renji is somewhat surprised by how much they both recall.

Renji is also surprised that he has forgotten how much he loves talking with Sadaharu -- and how much he missed it during those years when they were apart.

As Sadaharu continues reminiscing out loud, Renji thinks that he wouldn't mind spending the rest of his life like this.

He would have Sadaharu with him, after all. It wouldn't be so bad.

"And remember that first time we played a doubles game?" Sadaharu is saying.

"Against that brother and sister pair," Renji adds. "Yes, I remember. Sensei was pleasantly surprised at how good we were."

"Because we had been practicing together for a whole week." Sadaharu smiles. "It was your suggestion, I remember."

"You were skeptical at first. I remember that, too."

"But only at first."

"Because you had to see the actual results before you would believe a word I said."

"You know that's just how I was, kyouju."

"Yes, I know."

...

He gets a call early the next morning. The caller ID reads "Seiichi." 

They go through a few pleasantries, false and empty-sounding even over the phone. Seiichi says that he only just heard the news, and he is so sorry about what happened, and are you all right, Renji?

Renji sits down on his bed and looks at the desk across the room -- and tells Seiichi that he's fine, that it was very kind of him to call.

"What have you been doing these past few days?"

Renji replies that he has been at home working on his summer assignments -- which isn't exactly true, though he has tried to get through more of his reading, but with little success.

Seiichi sounds worried and suggests that Renji should go out more. Would Renji like to go shopping with him tomorrow, perhaps?

Renji makes up an excuse about his family being busy tomorrow and apologizes. Perhaps some other time.

Thankfully, Seiichi doesn't press the issue, and hangs up after a few more words.

Renji turns off his cell phone and puts it in a corner of his nightstand drawer.

...

"Remember that time you came to school with that annotated _Oedipus Cycle_ that was nearly half as tall as you were?"

Renji can see the smile on Sadaharu's face. "It was an enjoyable read," he replies.

Sadaharu laughs. "Takahashi-sensei was stricken when she finally realized what you were reading," he chuckles. 

Renji shakes his head, but smiles as well. The conversation dwindles into a fond silence as Sadaharu looks through the books on Renji's desk. He pauses as his eyes fall on a thin volume, picking it up with one hand. 

"Henry James?"

"Summer reading for a British Literature seminar. The original English is much better than the translation, I must say."

"Ah. I remember reading this a few years ago," Sadaharu says. Renji raises his eyebrows, and Sadaharu coughs and amends wryly, "In Japanese, of course."

"So I assumed, hakase," Renji deadpans.

The laugh at the same time. Sadaharu resumes browsing through the texts that Renji has accumulated for his classes: Vergil, Dante, Shakespeare, Austen, Irving, Poe, Wharton, Perkins Gilman...

"You spend too much time living inside your own head, Renji," Sadaharu says suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

Sadaharu shakes his head, a faint smile lending amusement to his eyes. "Do you ever do anything besides study?"

"I could ask the same of you," Renji replies, unthinking. Sadaharu goes still for a moment, and Renji mentally smacks himself. "Sadaharu, I--"

But Sadaharu cuts him off, his lips still holding the ghost of a smile. "No, you're right. I never really did anything else either."

Renji's insides contract uncomfortably at the subtle (glaring) tense shift. He swallows. "Well. We've both always been like that, more or less," he says, trying to fill up space with words.

Sadaharu shakes his head again. "But we weren't, Renji, don't you remember?" He puts down a battered copy of "Death of a Salesman", reaching for a small picture frame sitting in a corner of the desk. Renji knows that it's the picture of them, from back in elementary school, grinning and holding a tennis trophy aloft.

He resists the urge to close his eyes -- look away -- as Sadaharu says, "We used to have fun. We used to play..."

"Are you saying that learning isn't enjoyable?"

Renji regrets his trying to lighten the mood as soon as the words leave his mouth. Sadaharu's eyes are sad, and Renji can tell, even though they are hidden behind thick lenses. "No, Renji. I'm saying that there's more to life than numbers and words on a page."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Sadaharu puts down the picture frame gently.

"Of course," Renji says, wondering what on earth Sadaharu is getting at -- and fearing that he knows the answer all too well. He shakes the thought away. Through the window, he sees a glimmer of blue light on the horizon.

"Then why are we sitting here, Renji?" Sadaharu says quietly. His words drop like blocks against a sudden emptiness in Renji's soul, like stone and wood knocking together, hollow, loud...

...

Knocking...

"Renji?" Knock knock. Knock knock knock. "Renji. There's a call for you. Renji?"

Renji opens his eyes to half-light and the persistent sound of his mother knocking on the door. He pulls himself upright, feeling tired and disturbed and more than slightly annoyed at being woken up.

"Who is it?"

His mother presses the cordless phone into his hands when he opens the door. "Yukimura-kun," she says, and hurries away down the hall before he can say anything else.

Renji stares at the phone. It would be unspeakably rude to hang up on Seiichi without even saying anything, no matter how much he wants to crawl back into bed and close his eyes again.

So he draws in a slow, steadying breath, and puts the receiver to his ear. "Hello."

"Good morning," Seiichi's voice says. Renji cringes at the edge of pity that graces his ear. "Are you all right? Your mother says you've been sleeping a lot lately."

"I'm fine," Renji says, just a bit too sharp to be strictly polite. He adds, "Thank you for asking."

There is a pause.

Then, "Are you doing anything today?"

Renji turns his back to the door, closing his eyes against an imaginary headache. "I have a great deal summer work, Seiichi. I'm taking three extra courses in the fall, in order to qualify for some advanced programs senior year."

"Summer has barely started, Renji." Seiichi's voice is soft. The last thing Renji wants to do is continue to listen to him. "You haven't been out of the house in days."

"I rarely go outside. You know that."

"Being cooped up isn't going to help you accomplish anything."

"I agree that fresh air is necessary for maintaining physical health, and I assure you that I do go outside periodically. However, I find it easier to concentrate on my work in the house."

"Then why have you not even started on your assigned reading yet?"

"I have--"

"Don't lie to me. Your mother said you've been doing nothing but sleeping and moping. I'm worried about you, Renji..."

Seiichi's tone is both reprimanding and understanding. It is the voice of a leader, a guardian, a friend.

Renji hangs up on him.

He leaves the phone on the floor in the hallway and locks the door behind him.

The picture frame on his desk stares back at him, small and silent. He tries not to notice how his hand shakes when he picks it up and puts it in a corner of the bookshelf, behind a copy of _Macbeth_.

...

Sadaharu stands in the corner of the room by the desk, where the sunlight does not reach. Renji goes to the window to draw the curtains; the mid-afternoon sunlight is giving him a headache.

"You've gotten thinner."

"That compliment is generally reserved for girls, Sadaharu."

"I don't mean it as a compliment, Renji. You look as if you haven't been eating enough."

Renji ties the curtains closed and goes to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Sadaharu doesn't move, just looks down at him. Renji picks up a pencil, then sets it down again.

"It's too hot," Renji says after a long pause. "I don't have much of an appetite when the weather is like this."

"You haven't been getting enough rest, either."

Renji raises an eyebrow at _that_. "Sadaharu," he says very slowly, "I've been sleeping for over twelve hours a day."

"Oversleeping does not make one rested."

"I feel fine."

"You don't look fine."

"You're supposed to be figuring out why you're stuck here, and how to remedy the situation. Have you figured it out yet?"

"I've figured out some things." Sadaharu moves around the desk until he is standing beside Renji. "For one: Why is it always about me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Back then, you were always thinking about me, too. Improving my tennis, helping me find my own style, resolving my issues with being abandoned..."

"You're being self-centered, Sadaharu."

"No, I'm being truthful." He pauses. "Perhaps for the first time. Why, Renji?"

Renji stands up abruptly. "It's about you right now because _you're_ the one who's a ghost, Sadaharu."

"So I am. I'm dead." Sadaharu doesn't flinch when he speaks the words. He gazes steadily at Renji. "And what are you trying to do? Follow me to the grave?"

"Now you're being a sap."

"No, I'm being truthful, again. If you won't face facts yourself, then I'll have to force you to."

"There is nothing to face up to. You -- we -- have to find a way for you to...pass on."

"Hasn't it occurred to you that _this_ might be the problem?"

"This what?"

Sadaharu makes a sweeping gesture with his hands, which Renji knows should look ridiculously melodramatic, but right now all he can focus on is Sadaharu's voice, each word cutting into a vulnerable place he didn't know existed in his heart.

"These _lies_ ," Sadaharu says. "Every un-truth that I told you; every white lie that you told me."

Renji's throat feels tight. "When have I ever lied to you?"

"You've been lying for the past thirteen years, and you're still lying now." Sadaharu suddenly sounds tired, as if he were ninety-one instead of twenty-one going on deceased. "You don't have to speak a falsehood in order to lie. Willful omission is still deception."

"You're getting philosophical."

"If anyone is philosophical, it's you, kyouju. That's how it's always been. I was just an honest fool."

"You were never a fool."

"We were both fools, Renji..."

...

"Renji... Renji, wake up!"

Renji squeezes his eyes shut and turns on his side, curling into a fetal position against the wall.

His mother sounds as if she's about to cry. "Renji!"

He wants her to leave.

"Please... Wake up, Renji..."

He doesn't want to wake up. He wants to sleep. He wants to dream.

Sadaharu...

...

"Stop saying that."

"Nothing changes until you face the truth, Renji."

"No..."

...

" _Renji!_ "

....

"No!"

Renji jerks away, a silent gasp caught in his throat. His mother is staring at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

Sadaharu stares back at him from the foot of the bed. "You've sat on the truth for all these years. Hasn't it been long enough?"

"Renji...?"

"I've finally come to terms with it. Now you have to face it yourself, Renji."

"Renji, what's wrong?"

"There is no problem that needs to be addressed." Renji looks straight at Sadaharu. His voice threatens to crack, but he holds on.

"Renji..."

"You're reading between the lines," he adds, congratulating himself on maintaining his composure.

Sadaharu's eyes are piercing. "Why do you still feel as if you have to hide from the truth?" 

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and a moment later, Seiichi appears in the door, blocking out the light for a brief, shattering moment. "Renji!"

Renji draws his knees to his chest, feeling ridiculous and vulnerable and like a seven-year-old boy and not the adult that he is now.

But Sadaharu always makes him feel like a child -- because Sadaharu reminds him of sunlight and tennis and laughter and possibility and _happiness_.

And it still doesn't make any sense. None of it is well-ordered or simple or perfect. It never was. It's nothing like what they tell you, because not even those who follow pragmatic realism can ever predict what life and experience are really like. 

Renji's voice is very, very small, even to his own ears. "Why didn't it ever work out the way I thought it would, Sadaharu?" 

He hears Seiichi take in a sharp breath. "Renji..."

"We live in the real world, kyouju. Nothing is simple."

"Were you lonely, too?"

"Yes. Even though I didn't realize it until today. Neither of us did, I suppose, because we were used to it."

"But you were there. We had that."

"Renji..."

"No, we didn't. You wouldn't admit it, because you were used to not caring, and you wanted to keep that distance and be able to walk away with nothing holding you back."

"...there's no one there, Renji..."

Renji shakes his head. "No! No. That's not true."

"Then what is true, Renji?"

"I cared about you." His voice cracks. "I cared about you so much that I didn't know how to deal with it." His vision is blurring. "I was ten years old, Sadaharu..."

"So was I, Renji."

"Renji..." Seiichi's hand comes to rest on his shoulder -- lightly, so lightly that it's like the brush of a ghost, and Renji can't help but shudder. 

Sadaharu is still looking at him, waiting, and Renji can see his eyes, even against the glare of the sun glowing behind the drawn curtains. 

Renji swallows, and the words tumble out with a gasp, as if a noose that he didn't know was around his neck is finally gone, 

"You were the best friend I ever had."

And Sadaharu smiles, and nods, and Seiichi's arms envelope Renji in a firm embrace.

...

A ray of light pierces through a crack in the curtains, blinding him. 

When Renji can see again, the room is empty. The only sound is his heartbeat pulsing like a drum. Seiichi is still holding him; his mother is kneeling beside the bed.

There is no sign of Sadaharu.

...

Some part of him snaps, then, with the sound of ice cracking beneath the relentless sun. 

...

Renji collapses in Seiichi's arms, and weeps into the silence.


End file.
